


Whitney Houston, Take the Wheel!

by galactoids



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-03 13:58:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galactoids/pseuds/galactoids
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Thank god he has SOMETHING worth taking a bullet for."<br/>Said something is his ass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title is basically an allusion to the movie "The Bodyguard" which Whitney Houston starred in.  
> I promise it'll be relevant sooner or later.  
> This is my first fanfiction.  
> Rating will go up as fic progresses.  
> 

You, Karkat Vantas, are a natural born leader.  
Born and raised to rally and unite any group of miscreants towards a common goal.  
Said goal is to protect any asshole with enough money to pay for such services at Midnight Members inc.  
As such you will take no surly shit from any cocksucker that has the nerve to dish it to you.

Unless said cocksucker was your new employer.

Because of course you, who contains the luck of ten-thousand footless rabbits, WOULD be assigned to protect the biggest fucking douchebag in all of Hollywood.  
Shitty-movie-maker extraordinaire: Dave motherfucking Strider

“Vantas, were you even listening to me?"  
You don't reply, because at this point your traitorous windpipe wouldn't spout anything that isn't hostile.

"Whatever, look, the company decided that for whatever reason they need a monkey in a suit to follow me around."  
He looks at you pointedly; you have a feeling it has to do with your unimpressive physique.  
"Just don't do anything douche-y, alright?"

You nod with an irritated huff.  
With any luck he will request that bastard Zahack to follow him around in all his STRONG and sweaty glory.

He turns around and strides –that fucker—to the black Esclade waiting outside.

Okay future self, you have been given an opportunity, head of security for all of Strider's future public events, and the position of personal bodyguard for one of the most important assholes in Hollywood.  
Don't fuck this up.

 

Oh god, you're going to fuck this up.

 

-x-

 

As Strider steps out the dressing room in a brand new pair of slacks one important note comes to mind about your new charge.

Thank god he has SOMETHING worth taking a bullet for.  
Said something is his ass.

If it wasn't for the way that plush rump jutted impudently from the scum that would be Dave Strider, you're almost positive you would let him die in a hail of gunfire if given the chance.  
You might even be the one holding the gun, at this rate.

"Does this make my ass look fat?" he turns around, joking.

You want to give him the affirmative without any hesitation, because yes those slacks bring out his ass in the best of ways.

Okay Vantas back to work.

"Are you almost done here?"  
You need to call the driver to come around to the back of the store, because elbowing your way past the paparazzi to get to the front was only going to be fun the first time around.

“I won't be 'til I get some decent opinions, so come on Vantas, tell me how it is.  
Give me the verdict, I need to know if my ass is of cosmic proportions here.”

“Mr. Strider, the slacks look fine.”

“Dude, don’t tack on Mister to my name, call me Dave, Strider, or Your Majesty because anything else just makes me sound like more of a douche-nozzle then I already am.—who knows maybe when we get to know each other a little more you can earn the right to call me D-strizzle.” 

“Strider, why do I even need to be in here? I’m almost-positive that you have the functional capabilities of a child in order to prevent choking yourself in the process of dressing yourself.” 

Instead of answering he returns to his dressing room and throws the pair of slacks over the door, “Riddle me this: Why do all dressing rooms smell like jizz and stank, even high class ones.”

You scrunch up your nose in disgust as you suddenly notice the smell,  
“Because people don’t know how to keep their grubby hands to themselves?”

“Wrong,”—he replies, opening the door just as you’re about to pick up the discarded pair of paints –“it’s because Public Sex is hot.” As you look up he grabs your shirt and yanks you inside before swiftly closing the door.

“I’m not naïve enough to not notice how you were checking out my ass a little while ago.”  
He has you pinned against the mirror, and before you can inhale enough breath to relay how actively you don’t want this he has an unwanted hand at your ass. 

Oh hell no.

In a moment you have the offending appendage pinned behind his back in a position that gives you the leverage to break it if need be. Fuck him and fuck his beautiful behind for letting you consider for a moment that he was an okay sort of guy. Your about to tell him this when he begins to laugh.  
“What’s so funny, you sack of dicks?”

“Thank god you can protect yourself because, oh my god if you didn’t look like I could break you in two.”

What?

“Did you think I was going to be some easy lay for you, Strider? You may be my employer but like hell am I going to let you shit on the company I’ve worked damn hard for, you miserable pe-“

“Let go of me, man. This was a test, and it was passed with flying colors.” He laughs

“Explain.” 

“You’re scrawny as fuck, how am I supposed to know you’ll protect my maidenhood when it comes down to the nitty-gritty?” his laughs turn into a grunt when you put pressure on his arm for the insult.

You sigh pointedly before letting him go.

Now would be a good time to call the driver.

-x-

There isn’t much in this world you don’t like, and while you might be an ornery kind of guy there isn’t anything keeping you from being downright chummy with amiable people.

Dave Strider is not an amiable person.

“Dude, are you still mad at me? Jesus, I’m sorry but limits needed to be tested, butts needed to be touched!”

It’s safer to your career that you remain silent, because while you would completely enjoy telling him how illegal sexual harassment is, Strider is your meal ticket to a buffet of all the things you’ve ever wanted.

You side-eye him as he snaps his fingers in-front of your face.

“Look, I’m legitimately apologizing here. We are about to be all up in each other’s business for the next few weeks, and it’s going to suck if I’m stuck with an asswipe the whole time, okay?”

Despite your anger, you’re not as mad now but to get a little revenge you turn your head back out the car window to scan the crowd of fans surrounding the entrance to whatever event Strider waited ‘til the last minutes to get clothes for.

You make note of the more aggressive reporters hassling the men and women already walking inside the event center, and one stray juggalo that towers over most of the other fans in the crowd.

“Ready Mr. Strider?”

“Your Majesty,” he corrects

Rolling your eyes you open the door, and clear a path for him to walk inside without much hassle.  
The lone juggalo marks your passage with the dazed indifference of his gaze, and it is with slight perturbment that you follow Strider inside.

 

-x-

 

Despite earlier grievances, Strider does his best to act like a reasonable human being, and while his earlier insistence on drowning himself in both tequila and cheap beer had you worried, the way he settled down with a simple glass of apple juice has you thinking that his antagonization was just for show.

A woman comes out of the crowd just as you turn away from the bar, and the way Strider turns towards her in recognition relaxes you considerably.  
“Lalonde.” He smiles “Finally someone intelligent, I can talk to.”

You feel your face transform into a scowl when you realize this is a jab pointed at you.

“I’m glad to see you alive and well.” She comments offhandedly before turning to you, “My name is Rose Lalonde”—she greets—“I’m glad someone has been appointed to fix this mess.”

“What mess?”

Instead of answering she sharply turns towards Strider, who incidentally starts making his way to his appointed table. Oh no fucker, something is going on and they aren't telling you.

“Dave,” she follows, sounding not unlike a mother-figure. “How is he supposed to do his job if he doesn't know what his job entails?”

He shrugs, taking a swig of his drink to avoid answering.

She huffs instead, and turns towards you.  
“Did they tell you about the stalker?”

“What stalker?” you answer, glaring at Strider as he tries to hide behind his drink again.

“Dave, has been getting a slew of angry messages for parodizing Christianity and the ICP juggalo subculture in his latest film, and one such individual who is an avid member of both parties has become increasingly deranged in his attempts to reach out to –“

“Rose don’t make it a bigger deal than it really is,”—Strider finally cuts in—“Look man, he’s just some freak clown that’s freaking everyone the fuck out, okay? It’s not like he’s out to wear my entrails or anything, Jesus.”

“Did you seriously not think that this was even a minorly important detail? For the sake of fuck Strider! There was literally a juggalo watching you as we walked in!” 

“What?” he pales.

Rose sighs, “I told you, you should have placed charges at the very beginning, or at least when he placed that thing at your doorstep.”

“What thing?” you grimace.  
“A crow, and a dead one at that.” She turns back towards Strider who looks like he just learned his apple juice was replaced with piss.

“I’m going to get a drink, and when I come back”—she looks back at you expectantly before you supply “Karkat Vantas”—“ Mr. Vantas better know everything that’s been going on.” She turns sharply, strutting her way back towards the bar.

You glower at Strider, which he has the gall to return with a baleful half smile.  
It’s almost cute.

Almost.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> YOU ARE A MANLY MAN WITH MANLY MANGRIT QUALITIES.

If there's one thing you can do, and do well, its flip shit.  
You are literally a millimeter away from flipping all the fecal matter in the building when instead of properly explaining his situation to you the fucker decides to get up and attempt to walk away.

Nuh-uh.

Hell no.

And when you grab his shoulder roughly to push him back down, you watch his face flush pink and you don't think you've felt so satisfied in a long time. He looks humiliated and handsome, and okay...  
Vantas get back to work.  
“What the fuck is going on?”

Right when he opens his mouth to reply you hear a deep “Are you Mr. Vantas?” rumble from behind you.

Motherfuckers.

“Yeah?” 

“I’m head coordinator for his venue and I’d like to talk to you about safety preparations for Mr. Strider’s charity event next-“

“Okay, okay lets go.—turning back towards Strider you growl—but you, are gonna tell me everything when I get back.”

-x-

Predictably he’s nowhere to be found when you get back but the lady Lalonde sits in his place instead.  
“I see he gave you the slip,” she sighs before a long swig of the beverage in her hand.

“What exactly is his issue?”

She smiles, so secret and sly that it unnerves you for a moment. “Mr. Strider is a private man, and even I don’t know much more than the public about the situation at hand.”

“What do you know?”

Another swig, “I know that this man has something over Dave, but as to what it is? I couldn't tell you.”

You can see the dick-knot in the crowd now, talking with HOLY SHIT IS THAT BEN STILLER? FUCK YOU COULD HAVE HAD YOUR “THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT MARY” POSTER SIGNED THAT MOTHER FUCKER!

“What are you going to do?”

GET A FUCKING AUTOGRAPH—oh wait, Vantas you shit get back to work.

“Keep him under close watch, I can’t imagine he has many juggalo fans so if it’s that clown that’s outside then now I know what his stalker looks like.”

She nods, and giggles when you make a face in Strider’s direction.

“What?”

“You’re quite handsome Mr. Vantas, but I would advise you not to shit where you eat.” Her smile is all knowing now and holy shit this tiny thing sipping a dainty martini glass is fucking terrifying. “Oh, Ms. Maryam is here, excuse me while I ask about her latest line.” A giggle, and a wink, and she’s gone.

Weird, WAIT IF STRIDER KNOWS STILLER PERSONALLY MAYBE YOU CAN STILL GET YOUR POSTER SIGNED.

FUCK YEAH.  
-x-

Later attempts to pry any more information from Strider that night prove to be the most frustrating thing you will ever willingly put yourself through, and for a guy who hates himself as much as you do that’s fucking saying something.

Your efforts are dodged, redirected, and straight up ignored.

“YOU CUM-STAIN I SWEAR TO GOD, HOW CAN I DO MY JOB IF YOU WON’T TELL ME WHAT I'M PROTECTING YOUR PRIVILEGED ASS FROM?”

‘Privilege?’ Oh fuck you're turning into your brother, back the fuck up from that corner.

“ I've never been called a cum-stain, remind me to cross that off my bucket-list.”

“WOULD YOU JUST,”

Before you can even finish he’s out the car door and halfway towards his lofty penthouse.

The driver side-eyes you as you make an unintelligible sound of rage.

-x-

You pull the phone away from your ear as an unintelligible sound of frustration comes through the speakers. 

You are only able to parse out “GET THE FUCK OVER HERE, VANTAS.” Before you realize it’s your fucking employer on the other side.

Half-awake you can only reply, “How did you get my number?”

“ I'm you're goddamn boss, fucking bite me—he hisses—hurry the fuck up.” before abruptly ending the call.

You chance a look at the cheap analog clock at your bedside, 3 o’ fucking clock, that cock-munching monkey’s ass of an uncle. Fuck look at you, it’s so early that insult didn't even make sense. 

You stumble into the closest pair of pants you can find.

-x-

Roof. Now.

Two words adorn the ordinate bathroom mirror accompanied with a picture of a puppet in a provocative pose?  
Um. You turn towards Strider in your confusion. His face is pale, lips set into a grim line as he starts to scrub vigorously at the surface with a washcloth held tightly in his hand.

“NO! That needs to be photographed for evidence! WHAT THE FUCK, STOP IT!”

He only scrubs harder. “Look for points of entry.” He grits

It only now occurs to you that he’s wearing his sunglasses at three in the morning, indoors.  
What the shit? But when dealing with someone so upset it’s best not to ask those kinds of things, and instead you decide to do what you’re told for once.

However there are absolutely no signs of entry.  
No scuffs, scratches, broken hinges, face paint. Fucking. Nothing.

When you return to the bathroom Strider stares at you expectantly, and before you can even open your mouth he starts with “Yes I fucking locked the door don’t even start.”

“Then how the fuck did this slug-shit get in without BREAKING IN?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know? He was in my fucking house though, and you’re my fucking security shouldn’t you know more about this?”

“This is my first—you pretend to check your wrist—sorry, SECOND day on the job, and you’re expecting me to know how some freak out of “It” broke into your HIGH CLASS PENTHOUSE?”

You think back to the mirror.

“Have you checked the roof?”

“NO!” he shouts alarmed

“Obviously it was a message we should call the police to have it cleared--”

“No one is going to go up there”

“Obviously your stalker is!”

“No.” With that he composes himself again and he looks less like someone who’s about to shit himself and more like you’re douchebag employer.  
“Okay, Listen. This guy is obviously waiting for me to leave the house, for you to go back to sleep so he can take your maidenhood, murder you, and use your blood as his face paint, so let me at least check the roof so we can get over this and set you up in a hotel while we change your locks and shit.”

He’s silent, impassive and behind his glasses you can tell his brows are furrowed so you'll just fucking take your chances and mark it up for a yes.

Absently you pat your gun hastily shoved in the back of your pants; honestly you're lucky you didn't shoot yourself another asshole.  
He sighs, "Let me get the maintenance key." just as you begin to turn away.

-x-

He is still and light on the roof, you can't hear his steps or breathing and you look behind your back frequently to make sure he hasn't been kidnapped. 

“Holy shit, are you holding a sword? When did you get a sword?”

He looks down at his hand, almost startled, “Yeah.” But the calm of his voice doesn't match his body language and you are more than a little freaked out, more from Dave’s reactions than any real threat that you can detect.

Oh god, this is just a ploy to murder you, and everyone excluding you was in on it. Oh god. Oh God.

Honk

“SHIT A DICK, FUCK!” you draw your gun towards the sound; no fuck nugget is killing you today, no SIR. You have a long successful career ahead of you, a someday significant other to kiss, posters to get signed, movies to watch, damn it and YOU ARE NOT GOING TO DIE TODAY.

“H-hey stop shouting you dick! Look you've got me so startled I’m-m stuttering you ass—“

Honk. 

He ends his sentence with a hiss, actually fucking taking a stance with his cheap ass sword.  
You draw your gun. Honk. Undo the safety. Honk Honk. And take aim towards the source of the sound—the air conditioning unit.

Honk.

It’s now or never; you, Karkat Vantas, are a MAN and not only that YOU ARE A MANLY MAN WITH MANLY MANGRIT QUALITIES. You are an ORNERY FUCK WHO IS NOT AFRAID OF CLOWN ASSHOLES AND –“Just open the service door, Vantas! Fuck.” 

You just said all that out loud, shit.

 

You glare at Strider for interrupting your monologue anyway before unlatching the small door on the side of the unit, motioning for Strider to get behind you. 

HONK.

The unit violently rattles and you quickly open the door just in time to see a large and lanky figure disappear into the connecting duct, you fumble for your phone to illuminate the passageway in the dim lighting but end up taking a picture instead. The plastic face that leers up at you from the duct when illuminated by the flash is so fucking terrifying that you hit your head on the stupid control panel behind you. 

“Vantas? What the hell are you even doing?” Dave tries to crowd himself into the small area, and quickly grabs your phone which you had dropped at the lip of the duct.

He takes a look at the picture still on the screen and startles, accidently flinging your fucking phone into the duct.

“HEY THAT WAS MY—“ You stop when you realize you did not hear the clang of metal on metal. He’s still down there and now that freak has your phone. 

HONK HONK HONK HONK. 

The ducts rattle violently again, and like hell are you letting your charge die on your watch.

"GET DOWN!" 

You grab Dave’s arm and push him to the floor making sure to shield him with your body. His glasses are knocked askew, the rattling stops and Dave looks up at you with wide and frightened eyes.

The moment is over, you are safe, BUT HOLY SHIT IS THAT A BONER?

The muffled sound of a honk echoes quietly in the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AC units are much larger on the inside.  
> Please excuse any grammatical errors.  
> Thank you~


End file.
